


dear happy

by starblessed



Category: Bandstand - Oberacker/Oberacker & Taylor
Genre: F/M, Insomnia, Julia Trojan Worship, Sleepy Cuddles
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-10
Updated: 2018-07-10
Packaged: 2019-06-08 12:50:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,055
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15243753
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/starblessed/pseuds/starblessed
Summary: For the veteran returning home, every sunset can be another battle to wage. This is a war Donny knows better than most; he isn’t winning. Night after night, the same thing — wide open eyes, restless body, mind too loud for its own good.He thought time would make things easier — but, well, he’s been back home almost a year now, and proven himself wrong. His last hope was desperate, unfair… that Julia’s presence could bring him the rest he so vitally needed.





	dear happy

Donny’s insomnia is its own beast, as perverse and tempestuous as a summer storm.

For the veteran returning home, every sunset can be another battle to wage. This is a war Donny knows better than most; he isn’t winning. Night after night, the same thing — wide open eyes, restless body, mind too loud for its own good. He is conscious of every blip in his racing pulse, and tracks each heavy breath. No amount of tossing or turning does any good. Closing his eyes brings only darkness. In the darkness lurks ghosts he is too coward to confront: his old CO shouting orders, a bomb blast sending men flying like marbles, dead eyes staring at him from the darkness. Not to mention _Michael_ — always, _always_ Michael. He is the one ghost Donny can always count on, the one who will never leave him alone.

He thought time would make things easier — but, well, he’s been back home almost a year now, and proven himself wrong. Atmosphere, then, would be sure to do it —- maybe sleeping in a new place would change things. Wrong on that count, too. His last hope was maybe desperate, probably unfair… that _Julia’s presence_ could bring him the rest he so vitally needed.

At their best moments, Julia is everything he could ask for. She is an angel, a firestorm, promise and savior, heart and passion… all rolled into one. Julia is everything he never dared to imagine could exist before the war. That he’s found her _now_ — after he’s already been broken and twisted into somebody unrecognizable — is just another one of life’s screwed up ironies. He stopped being surprised by those a long time ago.

(If Michael were here, he’d laugh and declare, _“That’s just how the cookie crumbles, Nova!”_ Michael isn’t here, though, and Donny somehow doubts he’d laugh at his best friend falling in love with his wife.

If Michael were here… well, Donny would never have let himself fall in love with Julia. He’d have been alone. His belief in truly good things would’ve never changed. If one good thing came out of this entire hell, this war, the tragedy that was Michael… it’s that Donny got to give his heart to Julia.)

Julia is everything he needs when he needs it most, but she’s not always enough. She _can’t_ be. He’d never ask that of her, and never expect it.

But damn, he wishes she were.

So, he knows exactly what he’s in for, once Julia’s breathing levels out beside him, and he’s still left wide-awake: another night of staring at the ceiling, wishing he could turn back time.

(Julia makes it better, of course, but she cannot heal his wounds. Nothing can. The absence of Michael will always be a serrated scar upon his soul; the memories of his buddies left behind in the jungles still haunt him in the shadows. Even the sweet sound of her gentle breathing at his side can’t wash that away. Not tonight. Not ever.)

Hours roll by in the exact same way. Donny lies awake, praying for sleep that just ain’t gonna come, and _remembers_. He remembers Sarge’s shrill whistle, Lowball’s dirty jokes, Rubber — _Michael’s_ — toothy grin. He remembers the rain falling on mud covered skin, burning instead of cooling, while his fingers dug into blood-soaked dirt. Oh yeah, he remembers. He remembers _everything_...

“Donny?”

The voice at his side is no more than a whisper. It may as well be a gunshot. Donny springs to attention, wide eyes swiveling towards Julia. When he finds her gazing back at him, cheeks pale and hair a tangled mess in the dim moonlight, sheepishness clogs his throat. For a moment, all he can do is stare back at her. A part of him is awed — how the hell did he get so lucky to be laying beside this gorgeous woman — and another, bigger part is ashamed.

(His problems should never become Julia’s problems… especially when she tries, so damn hard, to help him.)

“Hey,” she whispers. Brows furrow as drowsy eyes come into slow focus. “What’s the matter?”

Donny turns his head away, then his entire body. He doesn’t want to disturb Julia if he can help it. He isn’t quite able to face her, either. “Can’t sleep,” he mutters, settling his eyes on the wall and keeping them there.

Julia shifts beside him. Blankets rustle around them, and the mattress creaks as she pushes herself up. Her shadow plays on the wall like a dancing marionette, painted silver and black in the moonlight.

He remains still, body tense, until a hand lands on his shoulder. Julia’s touch does him in. Donny relaxes against the gentle massage up and down his arm, leaning back into her embrace before he can stop himself. She huffs in muted amusement, air brushing the back of his neck.

“It’s one of those nights, huh?”

There isn’t a shred of judgement in her voice, only understanding. He hums a confirmation.

Julia chews the silence over for a moment before asking, “Is there… anything I can do?”

Of course not. What could she do? Being here is enough. Loving him is enough, though he knows he doesn’t deserve it. That’s all Donny can ask for.

Except sleep. But, hey, by now he’s given up on that.

“I dunno, Julia, I’m just…” He squeezes his eyes shut, furious at himself. (She shouldn’t have to be enough. _He_ should be enough.) “God, I’m just so tired.”

A hum of sympathy envelops him like a warm blanket. Julia’s hand moves to his shoulders, massaging firmly into the taut muscles there. Donny sighs, relaxing against her. He won’t protest, not when Julia is determined to help in any way she can. Instead, he tries to silence the noise crowding his head, and just... drift.

For a long while, this is all that exists: Julia’s touch, and merciful blankness. Were he alone, Donny would never stand a chance at slowing the world down and remembering how to breathe. (Were he alone, he’d be sitting at his piano, or pacing the floors until he wears tracks into the carpet. He is _very glad_ he’s not on his own tonight.)

Slowly, surely, Julia eases out all the tension that has accumulated in his neck and shoulders. This is no small feat, considering it’s the place where Donny holds most of his stress; but Julia has the hands of a surgeon and the patience of a saint. By the time she moves down to his back, relaxation has overcome him without him even realizing it. His body feels slow and sedated, lead coursing through his veins. Turning onto his stomach is an insurmountable task. Julia rescues him by wrapping her arms around his torso, pulling him close enough that she can continue her massage without disturbing him.

Donny’s head comes to rest against Julia’s chest. He can hear the pulse of her heartbeat, that steady _ba-dump ba-dump_ which reassures him that she’s alive. Warmth seeps into his body wherever they touch. He follows the lull of Julia’s breathing with his own steady inhales.

“Is this helping?” Julia asks softly. “Just a little?”

Donny sighs. “You don’t gotta worry about helping me.”

“I want to.”

It’s a simple reply, for what is ultimately a simple problem. Donny is stubborn; Julia is determined. If she wants to do something, she will, and if that thing is help Donny find some peace of mind…

Well, he’s already figured out how arguments with Julia Trojan go. (Never in his favor.)

“Yeah,” he assures her. “It’s helping a lot.”

Julia keeps up the massage until, gradually, she runs out of fuel. By then, Donny’s body is a giant puddle. He’s all but melted on top of her, blinking hazy eyes... not at the wall, not at the ceiling, but at a picture of Julia positioned on her bedside table. She’s sitting in a bed of flowers. Dirt coats her hands and the apron over her dress. A floppy sunhat is balanced on her head. Her grin is blinding. God, even in pictures, she’s too gorgeous to look at for long.

A hand begins to card through his hair. Trimmed fingernails run over his scalp, ever gentle. In spite of himself, Donny lets out a hum of pleasure, and he _feels_ Julia’s smile instead of seeing it. Only when she caresses his temple does he realize the impossible: his eyes are dropping. They’re filled with honey and sugar, growing harder to hold open with every minute. He is no longer fighting his body’s resistance to sleep, but the overwhelming urge to slip down into it. He just wants to stay awake with Julia... for a little while longer.

“What were you thinkin’,” he mutters against her warm skin. “When you took that photo?”

Julia’s surprise registers only in the slight pause of her hand, before she picks up stroking again. “I was thinking about how much I wanted to get inside, out of the heat, and have a glass of lemonade.” She pauses. “Also, that I don’t know the first thing about gardening.”

Donny snorts, nustling against her. “I know some stuff. I could teach you.”

“Where’d you learn it?”

“Me and my ma. We used to… do the garden every spring.” God knows his Ma needed _some_ outlet for her little boy’s boundless energy… and, her name being Flora, gardening just fit. Donny wouldn’t say he has a green thumb, but he remembers enough that he could guide Julia along. The picture swims in front of his tired eyes, and for a moment he can imagine himself sitting there right next to her. The sun beat down against his skin, swallowing him up. Julia’s laughter bubbles like champagne in his ears. He smiles.

Maybe he’s already drifting off, because an unfamiliar feeling is all that jars him back to wakefulness. Donny’s eyes crack open again. He doesn’t move, but feels the light pressure of Julia’s lips pressing to the crown of his head. A tiny shift in position lets her know he’s awake and felt it.

She hushes him, running a hand down his back again. Donny spine melds to the light pressure. When his eyes flicker up, they catch on Julia’s face, tired and beautiful in the dim moonlight.

“Can I say something stupid?” he asks; then, as an afterthought, adds, “you’re gonna laugh at me.”

“I won’t.”

“You will.”

“I listened to you ramble while running on four days without any sleep and too many cups of coffee. Surely I’ve heard worse.”

He chuckles to himself, resting his cheek against her chest just so he’s able to look at her. If he’s going to fall asleep — finally, dear god, after what seems like forever — he wants the last thing he sees to be Julia.

“Sometimes I can’t believe you’re real,” he confesses. “You’re like… an angel.” Only he doesn’t believe in those. “Or a dream.” Only he doesn’t have them — not nice ones, anyways. “Like I’ll open my eyes… ‘n you’ll be gone.”

Something in Julia’s face grows unimaginably soft, and for a second it steals Donny’s breath away. She leans forward again, pressing her lips to Donny’s forehead; then, after a beat, their mouths find each other. Donny is too exhausted to kiss back, so he just savors the pressure of Julia’s lips on his until she finally pulls away.

“Hold on to that,” she whispers, “and I’ll hold on to you. I’m not going anywhere, Donny.”

She isn’t an angel, isn’t a dream. She is nothing so perfect. Julia’s a _human_ , with all the flaws and emotions and imperfections that come with it. She can’t work miracles. She can’t fix anyone, can’t even mend the broken pieces in herself — no matter how much she wishes she could.

Donny wouldn’t love her any other way.

How the hell _did_ he get so lucky, anyways?

The hand in his hair is back, soothing him like a lullaby. Julia’s face starts fading. He returns to that warm day in the garden, dirt on his hands and Julia’s questions in his ear. A light breeze brushes past them. The rim of Julia’s hat dips over her eyes. When she peeks out, he’s smiling at him.

For the first time in a long time, his dreams are filled with sunlight.

**Author's Note:**

> this is my first bandstand fic (my first fic in a while, actually!) and i am just so?? in love?? with the whole band, but donny and julia, and everything about this show...
> 
> it was fun exploring donny's voice, and that messed up space inside his head. i don’t do either of them justice, but I tried my best!


End file.
